Disclaimers: This is a creative, nonfiction story based on actual events. All names, locations and time-lines have been changed to protect the guilty. I have also added details and events to make it a good story while maintaining anonymity. Although people told me about events, they could not fully transfer their thoughts, feelings and emotions to me, so I did my best, based on my own experience, to portray them.
In order to stay true to real life, the story starts slow. If you only want to read about sex, then this story is not for you. There is a lot of character and plot development at the beginning. If you are offended by things you didn't know actually happen, things that happen, but are not talked about or things you think shouldn't happen, then don't read this story. I'm not advocating, approving, dissuading, I'm only telling the story.
I will be posting this story on two other sites simultaneously. Those sites do not apply censorship. I don't think this particular story would be subject to censorship because it is real life, but if it should happen to be pulled, you can find it on those sites.
POTENTIAL Part 1
Candy Damiani, glanced at the clock while her fingers strummed a nervous rhythm on the table. She anticipated the knock, but still jumped when it came. She sipped from her glass , got up and walked to the door.
"Come in,” Candy said, and stepped aside. The tall teenager had to squeeze past. He was holding a box with both hands and his elbow bumped her breast.
"Mrs. Damiani," he said, and flipped his shoulder-length hair, "everything is done outside. All that's left is the software." He put the box down on the kitchen counter, his eyes shifting nervously.
“Zachary," she said, and licked her lips. Her arms tightened at her sides and the boy's eyes darted to her chest.
“Ah, yes, Ma'am.”
“Call me...Candy,” she said.
"Okay, Candy...Candy it is. So, ah, where's the computer I'm supposed to install this on?"
"It'll be on my husband's computer," she said, and smiled. “Follow me.”
They left the kitchen and entered the back section of the house. It was a modern addition on the old house where their master bedroom and office were located, away from the kid's rooms. The first door in the hallway was to the office, but Candy passed it and took Zachary into the master bedroom. She paused and slid her hand over the end of the king sized bed, then continued through the doorway into the attached office. It was a stupid game she was playing, but it made her feel better. Fuck John's security-system, she thought.
For the next ten minutes, Candy watched Zachary install software and hook something to the back of John's computer.
"All right," he said, "sit down here and I'll show you how it works." He got up and turned the swivel chair around for her.
Candy sat and scooted forward, then leaned back and looked up at Zachary. "Show me," she said. He was looking straight down into the depths of her cleavage.
He said, "Double click this icon."
She pretended she cared, and said, "Wow, it's so clear!" She played up the dumb blonde roll.
The screen showed two images. One was the front porch and the other was the driveway going down the side of the house. She could see the bottom steps of the back porch. Now John could see her coming and going, and everyone who visited.
“What does this do?" she asked, and covered Zachary's hand with hers on the mouse. It trembled.
"Ah, that's the zoom control." He drove the pointer to a row of buttons. "Here's the activation mode. It's set up like a motion light, it records anytime something moves outside. The rest of the time it just shows the picture."
“Great,” she said.
Zachary had no idea her husband would change his password when he came home and he'd be the only one seeing what was recorded. He'd have another way to make sure she didn't have friends other than the ones they shared, the ones he approved.
“My boss told me there was another computer that I was supposed to install the view panel on,” Zachary said. “Is that it over there.”
“Yes,” Candy said, and followed the boy over to her desk in the far corner of the room. He repeated the process on her computer while she imagined things she had no business thinking about.
“Okay, it's done,” Zachary said.
“All ready,” she said.
“Yes, there's less set up when it's just the view panel,” Zachary said. “Let me show you how it works.”
“Will this computer record too?” she said.
“No, this one is a secondary device. Its signal comes from that computer,” he said. “If you have this button clicked, and there's movement, then you'll see the images in these two windows.”
Candy pushed her chair back and stood up. "Wow, this will make me feel so safe," she said, her anger building. "I do transcription work all day with my headset on. Anyone could break in and do—Mm, you never know what someone might do to me.” She paused, then added, “Things aren't like they used to be." That was an understatement.
"Yeah, right," he said. "Speaking of that—”He reached into the box he brought and pulled out a small device—"here's one of TechAdvance's standard nanny-cams. It can easily be hooked into this system."
Candy felt her heart flutter. "Nanny-cam?"
"Yes,” Zachary said. “It's not inconspicuous, like a spy camera, more to let a babysitter know you might be watching."
She thought about when she was, Candy, the babysitter, and the hairs on the back of her neck rose. "Those days have past," she said. Like she would let her husband near a babysitter. "Not that my youngest needs it anymore, but the older kids are my live-in babysitters."
"All right, but if you change my mind—" He paused. "I'm not supposed offer this, but if you don't tell my boss, I could come and help you out, you know, for free."
Candy ran her hand down his forearm. Unfortunately her husband would know if she took the boy up on a special service visit. "Not a problem, it'll be our secret." She'd always loved her secrets when she was a girl, and saying the word while playing this silly game with Zachary, got her excited.
Once Zachary was gone, Candy sat in front of her computer, her stomach turned and her fingers trembled. Spycam, spelled out in the search box. She was just curious.
At school, Evan sat in a desk that was too small for his six-foot frame, thinking there should be a law against having a young, hot teacher. The crotch of his khaki pants was getting too tight. His Social Studies teacher, Mrs. Beck, was writing on the board in preparation for class. Her incredible butt was wiggling in cadence with the squeaking marker. He dove into his daily fantasy and started undressing his teacher. What new position would he do her in while his classmates watched?
The woman from the Philippines had smooth brown skin, almond shaped eyes and big, firm breasts. He pushed everything off her desk, laid her down and knelt over her. He started titty fucking her. His creamy load would look great splattered on her brown flesh.
His lusting was interrupted when Darlene entered the classroom. The redhead's body transformed a school uniform into something he'd seen on a "School Girls" website, where 20-year-old women dressed up like fourteen-year-old girls, and did naughty things. He was sure Darlene did naughty things too.
Evan watched Darlene's ass until she got to her seat. She never looked at him. The sixteen-year-old supposedly would go both ways and do things that other high school girls hadn't even heard of.
When class ended, Evan timed his exit to coincide with Darlene's. "How was your weekend?" he asked.
Darlene said, "Fine," without looking at him.
"Do anything fun?"
"Not really," she said, then started turning the dial on her locker.
“Okay,” he said, feeling stupid.
Darlene shoved books into her locker and slammed it. "See ya." She turned and walked away.
Damn it, he thought, I still didn't get anywhere with her. Maybe he did something mean to her years ago that he didn't remember.
Evan stood in front of the school breathing the diesel fumes from all the yellow kid carriers, still thinking about Darlene. He stumbled forward when someone jumped on his back and wrapped their legs around his waist. “Jeez!” he yelled.
“Guess who?” said the person riding him with their hands over his eyes.
Even if he didn't recognize her voice or the smell of her strawberry shampoo or the feel of her long, soft fingers, he'd know. He'd feel her inside his soul and know. “Let's see,” he said. “I think it's the only person who still thinks it's all right to act like we're ten?”
“Whatever,” Deana said. “Carry me to the car. My legs are sore.”
“Just get off me,” he said. “It's embarrassing.”
“Right,” she said, “like there aren't a hundred guys who'd love to give me a piggy-back ride.”
“Yeah, but none of them are your brother,” he said. “Now let go or I'm gonna dump you in that trash can.”
His twin sister, Deana fell in stride with him as they walked towards the student parking. She said, "What's eating you?"
"Nuha-thin,” he said. “Where are the Tumbling Triplets?"
"They're riding to 'nastics with Kimmy's mom." She bumped him with her hip. "So?"
He avoided her dark, searching eyes. "So?” he said, “What?"
"You know, what's bothering you?"
He was horny enough to stick his dick in a tree-knot and couldn't get laid, or even get a conversation going with Darlene. Should he let his sister in on that? "I got a lot on my mind, that's all."
She walked backwards in front of him with her lips squished to one side. "A lot of red hair and big tits, maybe?" She smirked.
"Deana!"
"Is it true what they say about redheads?" She took off ahead of his swing.
"Jeez! Will you—"
"Sorry. I saw you talking to Darlene and—"
"Talking to her?" He pressed the unlock button on his keypad and a blue Monte Carlo chirped. "That girl doesn't know how to talk. I'm just trying to be friendly with her, and—"
“Friendly," Deana said. “You mean get laid?” She pulled at the bun on top of her head and silky black hair cascaded down her back.
“Deana,” he said, sorry that he had gotten in this conversation, “you have a dirty mind.”
"Me?” she huffed. “You're the one trying to hook up with Darlene. Not to mention checking out my friends every chance you get.”
“Like you don't flirt with Jason,” he said. His best friend, Jason, knew Deana was off limits. Their father was the major deterrent, but Jason was still hot for Deana. They had a “Sisters off limits” pact. So far neither of them had tried to break it.
“I don't flirt with him,” Deana said, “and even if I did, I don't try and peek at his panties every time he gets out of the back seat, like you do when Rebecca gets out of your car. Pervert.”
He hated having a twin sister who knew him so well. Rebecca was his favorite of the three tumblers, and he was pretty sure she wanted him to see her panties when she got out of the back seat. He'd love to do more than see them, but Deana made him promise not to date her friends, especially not Rebecca. She'd been Deana's best friend since kindergarten.
They pulled out of the school parking lot and he tried to change the subject. “I'm going to offer Mrs. Beck sex for an A in her class.”
Deana stared at him for a minute, then squinted one eye and raised the other thick, black brow. “She's hot,” she said.
“Maybe you can get an A+ if you do her right.”
“Jeez,” was all he said.
He stopped the car in their driveway, and Deana said, "I gotta pee." She jumped out of the car and halfway to the back door she yelled, "Get my bag."
He watched her climb the porch steps. "Sure, and I'll close your door, too."
In the kitchen, Evan dropped Deana's book bag by the back door, then stood behind his little sister—step sister.
"Hey, Gloria," he said, and collected her blonde mane of hair, tugging down until he could look into her blue eyes. "Monkey brains. That's wrong."
"Which one?" Gloria said, scrunching her shoulders to fight off his hands. "That tickles."
He moved his chin down to her shoulder. "Number eleven. A is unknown, so the answer is D, not enough information."
"Math isn't my good subject," she said.
"Oh yeah," he said, "what is?"
"Art."
"Art ain't a subject."
"Is too!" She pointed to a pile of papers. "See."
"Wow!" he said, reaching for the top sheet. "What do you call this one?"
"I don't call it anything. It's free expression," she said. "I wanta be an artist."
"Really?" He wanted to be a race-car driver or a porn star but neither of those was likely to happen. "If I were you, I'd sign it, frame it and name it, 'Monkey sex.' People will buy it for big bucks"
"Pervert."
"Hey, stop spending so much time with Deana," he said. “I'm just tryin' to help. Where's mom?"
"I don't need help,” Gloria said. “Mom's doing doctor junk. Don't bother her. She said so."
He heard Deana come out of the bathroom. "Let me know if you need more help with your math." He laughed while avoiding her elbow and headed for the bathroom.
Evan closed the bathroom door, ready for his regular afternoon relief. He hesitated, then opened the hamper anyway. Deana's red hearts underwear peeked out from under a shirt. He lifted them and turned to face the wall length mirror over the counter. If there were panties that didn't belong to his sister, he would have chosen those. Satisfied with his rationale, he lowered his zipper. The steel, vein bulging erection that sprang from his boxers was excessive in a breathtaking way. He squirted Deana's lotion on the bulbous cock head and let it spill down his long, hard shaft. He pressed the soil crotch to his nose and the scent of vaginal fluid erased the image of the girl who owned the underwear.
"Fuck, oh, fuck," he moaned.
Mrs. Beck on her knees appeared behind his closed eyes. "Oh Evan, oh, Evan," she moaned. "Please give me your cum! Give me that hot teenage cum. Put it on my face. Get it all over my face, please." His hand pumped violently up and down the rigid, cock.
His balls rolled in their sack, then drew up, tight and ready to shoot, but he demanded they wait. Porn stars had to be able to cum on command. He kept stroking. The thick, purple knob snapped in and out of his fist. He opened his eyes and stared at his erection as it jerked and filled to capacity.
"Oh, yes!" He put Deana's underwear in front of the streams of cum and let the material soak up his orgasm. They're just underwear, any old underpants. Who cares?
Out in the hallway, Deana backed away from the bathroom door with that nagging sense of guilt she always got when she knew something that her brother wouldn't want her to know. It wasn't like she was spying on him, or watching, she just knew. Was that wrong?
She closed her bedroom door and blew-out a long breath. It was wrong, but not because she knew her brother was jerking off, it was how it made her feel that was the problem. Oh well, she thought, it's not going to send me to hell. All those other things she thought about, those were hell worthy offenses.
Later on, Evan kicked twice, then threw three punches at the heavy bag. Why was he so frustrated? It'd been six months since Stacey moved to Michigan. Shouldn't he be over her already? She'd been his first real relationship, one with regular sex, that is. Had he actually loved her, or was it the sex, sex and more sex that he loved? He threw punch after punch until his heart pounded and blood roared in his ears.
"Hey, Karate Kid," Deana said.
He turned and saw his sister on the open staircase that led down to their finished basement. “What,” he said.
"Don't be hostile," Deana said, and sat with her legs hanging over the edge of the staircase. "Mom said it's almost time for dinner. So bring your sweaty butt upstairs." She giggled. "I added that last part."
He watched her legs swing, wondering when they had gotten so long. "I'm going to take a quick shower."
In the bathroom, Evan stopped drying his head when he heard his dad calling his name. It was dinner time. He flattened his thick black hair and pulled gray sweatpants up is wet legs.
"Sorry," he said, when he reached the kitchen, "I thought I had more time." He sat to his father's right, on the long side of the table. It was a large table, like his father. Deana and Gloria were seated across from him and his mom, Candy was to his right, at the opposite end from his dad.
His father, dug his fork into a mountain of baked zitti and everyone else started eating. That was the rule, don't start until everyone was seated. Unofficially, not until their dad started. One day he might ask why they didn't say grace anymore.
He kicked Gloria under the table and motioned with his chin to her napkin. She quickly moved it to her lap.
“You staying focused for the end of the year, finals?” John said, and took a sip from a glass of wine. “This isn't the time to start slacking off.” He stuffed a hunk of garlic bread into his mouth. Crumbs grabbed onto his black mustache.
Evan inhaled, wishing he could tell him the truth. He glanced at Candy's pursed lips and swallowed his response and lied, “Yes, Sir.”
His dad added, “I hope so. This year and next are the most important towards college.”
Gloria's toes grabbed his kneecap. He resisted the urge to tickle her foot. “Mom, did you know you gave birth to the next Picasso?” He felt Gloria's toes tighten. “Really, she drew a picture that will make her rich someday.” He looked at his blushing sister then back to his mom. They could pass as twins, except Gloria's hair was golden-blonde and Candy's was more of a strawberry-blonde.
“She's definitely got talent,” Candy said.
Evan thought he should say something about the open button between his mom's breasts, but he stared through the gap at her black bra instead. Her wonderful melons rested on the table when she reached for the Parmesan. He imagined himself sitting on the table in and sliding his dick through the valley of cleavage.
“Don't get her hopes up until she learns something she can earn money doing,” his father said.
Evan jerked his eyes away from Candy's cleavage and reached for Gloria's foot. He squeezed it and rubbed her toes. She kept eating without looking up.
John said, “Did TechAdvance come today?”
“Yes, it's done,” Candy said, without adding details.
“Good, I'm glad,” John said, between mouthfuls of pasta.
Evan followed the volley of conversation, wondering if his mom was pissed off about the security system, or something else.
That night, after finishing his homework, Evan was ready for a snack. He went down the stairs from his room in the attic. At the bottom of the stair, he opened the door carefully, so he wouldn’t hit anybody walking past. The bathroom door was to his right, and Deana’s and Gloria's bedrooms were at the other end of the hallway. He'd had plenty of opportunities to bash one of them when he got in a rush.
“Boo!” Gloria shouted in the dark corridor.
He took a deep breath, pretending she hadn’t scared the crap out of him, then finished closing the door. “You’re going to have to do better than that,” he said.
Gloria’s smile said she knew she’d scared him. “Evan,” she said, “do you really think I have talent?”
“You bet,” he said. It seemed like only a few days had past since he'd lifted her by her armpits, kissed her nose, and called her Baby-Girl. Now he wouldn't need to lift her and she was too old to be treated like a baby. The years between them used to seem like a huge gap, but the age she was at now closed that gap. He still treated her like a baby and she still seemed to appreciate it. “Don't worry about what dad says, do whatever you like doing.”
“Hmm,” she said, thinking about something that made her smile. “Thanks, I will.”
“You know, you and Deana could wear more than a towel when—”
“I know, I know, dad tells us that.” She turned and walked to her room. The white terrycloth was at the edge of her bare cheeks, and it embarrassed him that he stared.
